Joining Duke Banaya's army is not a difficult task; the devils are always very welcoming to those sacrificial victims who arrive with resources—after all, if they want to lay down their lives in the Blood War, why not? But if you think there will be pretty Desire Demons welcoming you or devils cheering for the newly joined warriors, then you are gravely mistaken. An imp tossed two longswords to Lynch and the Desire Demon, then led them into the foul-smelling camp.

This is the "new recruits" camp, but there are no training courses. All the first-timers in the Blood War are assigned here. The devils' logic is simple; they only trust a person's innate battle instincts. The Blood War doesn't need those who must undergo years of training to become lethal, as that would greatly increase the cost of battle. Devils only favor those born warriors who can survive in a dance of blades using their instincts. Those kinds of people, with just a bit of training, can quickly adapt to the ways of Bator Hell.

The Desire Demon followed closely beside Lynch, her longsword constantly spinning on her slender fingers. For Eryies, this weapon made in Hell felt like an extension of her arm, like an elongated hand. If she wanted the longsword to perform a swing dance, all she needed was a twitch of her little finger.

Eryies concealed her past experience because, given her participation history and status as a Desire Demon, she could easily enter the core Imperial Guard rather than stay in the new recruits' camp. She didn't want to be separated from the mage; this man from the Main Material Plane was her only reason for returning to the battlefield. She needed to keep a close watch on him, constantly aware of his actions; her premonition grew stronger that something significant would happen.

Lynch glared fiercely at the imp assigning him weapons, doubting whether this creature was even more foolish than the legends said. Just a glance at his attire should reveal his identity as a spellcaster; giving him a crossbow would have been a better choice. However, the mage soon noticed that even a black Titan Giant was assigned a "longsword," which, compared to his size, was little different from a toothpick. This was when Lynch understood the devils' mindset—it's not the weapons that matter, but survival depends on oneself.

This is also why they don't even have a simple leather armor for protection.

The mage's camp is composed of a cluster of tents. Regardless of your size, you can only seek refuge from the scorching sky beneath the tents. Calling these hole-ridden items tents is an exaggeration because, in Lynch's eyes, they seemed like nothing more than wooden sticks with canvas. All the combat participants gathered in small groups, mostly according to their race—Lemures with Lemures, Imps with Imps. Here, there's no real need to make friends; nobody cares who you are, nor do they need to know who you are. Those are luxuries meant for the survivors after the battles.

A few large cauldrons sat in the center of the camp, and some imps were stirring them with huge wooden staffs, sending the stench of meat stew mixed with fetid odors wafting through the air. Lynch frowned as he had just witnessed a captured timid demon (one of their enemies) being tossed into the pot, and the imps eagerly struck and jabbed at it with their staffs before continuing to stir the stew.

Lynch's face immediately turned pale; his throat began to sour, and a bitter taste rose from his chest and abdomen, reaching the back of his neck. The Desire Demon gently leaned against Lynch's back, her lips close to the mage's cheek as she softly said, "Dear, you must hold it in, or else the bastards here will think you're a weakling, and they'll conspire against you in the shadows."

Lynch redirected his will to control his body's adverse reaction, swallowing down the retch clawing at his throat. Although his face remained bloodless, the mage still smiled and said to Eryies, "Thank you for the warning..."

"It's what I should do, dear," the Desire Demon pressed even closer, her body's curves outlined clearly against the mage's back. Lynch shook his head and said to her, "I need to focus now and strive for survival. This is no time to think about other things."

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